While Darkness Fell
by Misti Wolan
Summary: When Anakin was at his worst, Padmé thought she'd hit the pit's bottom. She was wrong.
1. Prologue

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
I have a knack for making things really weird. I take hints and run with their implications. Just to warn you.  
  
DISCLAIMER:  
Practically all characters found in here belong to George Lucas, etc. I merely write this for the fun and practice… You'd be surprised how many flaws I've analyzed in my writing style in a Star Wars book I'm writing—and am on restart 14 of…

PROLOGUE

"Hey, sis! Could you give me a hand with this?"  
She quickly disentangled herself from the politicians around her, hurrying over to help Sola with the huge bowl of food. The two of them struggled to take it to the table.  
Suddenly it lightened, lifting from their arms and landing roughly where they'd wanted it.  
They turned together, she hastily preparing to prevent any rumors…  
Anakin grinned far too widely, stepping easily beside her. "Let me guess; your mom."  
Sola snatched a towel off her shoulder and swatted the far too cocky bodyguard with it. "_I_ made it, you scamp! You give my baby sister some breathing room!"  
"I'm not your baby sister!" she snapped. Sola smiled that annoying, knowing smirk of hers, but didn't miss the message in Padmé's eyes. Padmé was younger than her sister, true; but they'd had another sister, once…  
A familiar wailing started up from a circle of politicians. She cringed but contained herself, comforting herself with the thought that the glances to her sister were amused, relieved and grateful for this chance to relax Sola had provided them with… despite howling the nine-month old infant.  
Ryoo, the elder of her two nieces, cut through the circle to come over to them. She scowled crossly as she handed the little boy to Sola. "Why does he cry all the time?"  
"Oh, now—he doesn't do it _all_ the time," Sola said quickly, trying to soothe the baby.  
As the wails grew louder, Padmé performed a quick memory exercise she'd picked up from… some Jedi, probably. Sure enough, a ripple had passed through a few seconds ago.  
"Let me see him." Shooting a glare at Anakin, she scolded herself for not noticing the dark surge. She should listen for such things. How could she help Anakin if she didn't know what he was feeling?  
Almost the instant Benji was in her arms, he stopped crying.  
Anakin laughed. "So the little man likes his aunt, huh?" His look was unmistakable, and she earnestly hoped no one was watching her ignorant Jedi husband. "He has good taste."  
She gave him her insubordination glower. In moments, he was back to acting like he was what he was supposed to be.  
Her Jedi bodyguard.

• • •

Again, Benji stopped crying the instant Aunt Padmé held him. Ryoo glared a few seconds but ducked away before any of them noticed it.  
Benji wasn't her brother.  
It was that simple. But whose child was he?  
Sidelong, she eyed Aunt Padmé. Aunt Padmé had been confined to her room about the time Benji was born—with a stomach virus, Mom had claimed, and a few things more serious.  
"He likes her too much," she muttered. _That_ was where Benji was from. Blue eyes didn't run in the Naberrie family.  
"What's that?"  
Ryoo jumped, looking up at the kindly older man above her. Her eyes bugged, but her formal training kicked in. She curtsied. "Why—hello, Chancellor."  
Chancellor Palpatine watched her thoughtfully. "That was an odd comment, especially for one your age. May I ask who you're referring to?"  
Her eyes flashed, and she grinned. "Jedi Skywalker." She nodded over at him, keeping close to the Chancellor. "Of course, Aunt Padmé has us call him Anakin… _Uncle_ Anakin, Pooja's made it. He _acts_ like he's our uncle."  
To her delight, the Chancellor looked intrigued. "You don't say? You'll have to explain that—not here," he added swiftly, glancing around. "Can you go outside?"  
"I'll ask my mother."  
"Do so." Palpatine took a few steps away. "Tell her I'd like your company in the garden."  
When Ryoo made her request, Mom looked vaguely worried and shot Aunt Padmé a meaningful glance.  
The smile and laugh quickly fell off the Senator's now-business face. "What?"  
"Palpatine." Mom nodded at Ryoo.  
"I don't have any…" Aunt Padmé's resigned voice trailed off as she met Ryoo's gaze. Aunt Padmé frowned, pulling a datapad from her sleeve. She handed it to Ryoo. "Write twenty good things about your life. When it's done, give it to me."  
Smoldering, the eight-year-old Ryoo obeyed.


	2. Slipping…

**_Here's _where why I'm calling it PG-13 begins.**  


PART 1: SLIPPING…

"Oh, Anakin. Don't."  
He toyed with the Force, ruffling her gown.  
"Anakin—stop."  
At her command he grudgingly obeyed, helping her by tightening the bodice in back. She gasped as air whooshed from her lungs. Padmé regulated her breathing so she wouldn't black out—cautiously, since she couldn't let Anakin know her secret.  
"Isn't this a bit old-fashioned?"  
She playfully smacked his hand but kept her face sober, to show she forgave him without encouraging further teasing. "That's the point of this festival, Anakin. The Battle of Naboo was a turning point for my people, making us realize that sometimes peace cannot continue." She squelched the urge to loosen the bodice, afraid she'd do it if she wanted it too much, and not necessarily with her hands. "But that doesn't mean the old ways have to die."  
Padmé Amidala, Naboo Senator, checked herself in the mirror. As she always did whenever Anakin was around, she'd dismissed her handmaidens, but that wasn't an excuse to appear sloppy.  
"What're you hiding your hair for?"  
She swatted his hand away, not letting him take out her two rolls. She wanted her hair out of the way, today. It was sort of a concession, too, letting Anakin see her neck since—  
"And what's with this?"  
Gritting her teeth, Padmé physically held her blouse in place. As usual, Anakin forgot about the obvious—the bodice atop it—making its removal much easier for her to prevent.  
"I am _not_ going sleeveless, Skywalker. Queen Jamillia—"  
"Skywalker!" he yelled. "_Skywalker_?"  
"_Anakin_," she quietly corrected. "You are Anakin, and you are Skywalker. I am Padmé, and I am Amidala. In private, they are no different. It is in public that it matters."  
He calmed somewhat—but not completely, she could tell. Anger still simmered beneath; anger eager for a vent she refused to offer it.  
"Queen Jamillia asked me to wear this outfit, and I agreed to do so."  
He followed her to the door. "…Why that specifically?"  
Padmé smiled mysteriously, cocking an eyebrow at her naive husband. Not replying, she headed to the festival.  
The gown had belonged to her Jedi grandmother.  
  
"_Ugh_!"  
Her opponent foolishly warned her with a grunt. She leapt over his shoulder, curving and dropping sharply on her hands immediately behind him, using the momentum from her landing to twirl about, plant a kick in the other person's back, and land back on her feet.  
All within an eyeblink.  
Observers gasped at the young Senator's unnatural agility. The exercise was made even more amazing by a little piece of cloth she wore over her eyes, interfering with her vision though not blocking it entirely. Her male opponent lacked this item.  
That male opponent was her chief of security.  
The exercise continued, each of them trying to unfoot the other.  
Suddenly, someone stormed in, too quickly for her to get a good look at him before he started pummeling Typho.  
"Anakin, stop!" she cried. She lunged forward, grabbing his robotic arm with one hand as the other whipped off her blindfold. "It's just a security exercise!"  
Anakin was very, very still. She tried not to listen to his feelings, but she couldn't help it. Anger pulsed from him, too weakly restrained to be labeled under any type of control. But he was no longer attacking Typho.  
Her insides curdled, aware she'd probably be on the receiving end of that anger. That was later, though. Now she had to get him out of here without making them seem too intimate.  
She decided just getting him out of here would be best, right now. She'd worry about the gossips later. At least they couldn't kill you, and weren't trusted too much when their subject was as beyond reproach as she was.  
She pulled him away. "Come on, Anakin. Let him be." Medics were undoubtedly on their way.  
"Don't you _ever_ touch her again," he growled.  
Padmé cringed. She knew that tone. It was the same he'd used when… "It's practice so no one does hurt me."  
He whirled about, and she stiffened, fearing he'd make an outburst— …Moments passed… He didn't move, hate joining anger in the dreadful song she heard radiating from him…  
Abruptly, Anakin left. She tentatively followed.  
  
"The cold, hard truth of the matter is," said Palpatine firmly as he strode across the room, "that all your _friends_ are using you for their own devices. Consider—" he waved an arm. "The Jedi Council, for example. They don't want you higher than them, so they keep you low, not sending you on missions where you might better yourself."  
His face darkened. "Master Obi-Wan's the same way."  
"I'm glad you can see that, Anakin." Palpatine smiled. "But if I may point out… _Amidala_ also takes advantage of you."  
He jumped back, stricken. "No!" he thickly protested. "Not Padmé!"  
"She orders you about, does she not? You are very eager to fulfill her demands."  
Anakin's breathing quickened as he struggled with control. "She's older."  
"By a measly four years." Palpatine's face was sympathetic. "Anakin, even _you_ must admit how keen she is on getting her own way."  
The young Jedi's voice rose. "She knows what's best for me!"  
"Best for you? Or what she _says_ is best for you? But—" He quickly cut off any more protests. "You may believe as you will."  
"Padmé would _never_ hurt me."  
Palpatine's face was resigned. "If you say so."  
  
The elderly Jedi reentered, eyeing her respectful nod with distaste. "You may enter."  
"Thank you, Master Nu."  
Jedi Master Jocasta Nu huffed slightly, turning away. Padmé silently sent her an apology. It hadn't been her fault so many had died at the Battle of Geonosis. But most Jedi acted like it had.  
She stepped gracefully into the Council room—not proudly, but composedly. She had requested this audience with them for a special purpose, and she would not let them consider her a dithering fool for it, nor a conniving politician.  
Jedi Master Yoda's seat was empty. Padmé kept her disappointment inside. Yoda would've listened to her. Now she had to convince the rest of the Council—a Council already wary of her.  
"Master Windu." She respectfully lowered her head.  
The second senior member of the Jedi Council returned the gesture. "Senator Amidala. What brings you before us?"  
"—And without your bodyguard?" added Knight Ki-Adi-Mundi.  
Padmé glanced around, quickly judging the best way to reach those Council members present. "May I presume Master Yoda is searching the Dark Side?"  
Silence answered her.  
"If such is true," she said, struggling to keep the bitterness from her voice. "I fear he will someday need go no farther than to look at Skywalker."  
This silence was different. It was an uneasy, even agitated silence. Members glanced at each other, a few to Master Depa Billaba's empty seat. Depa's was always empty.  
_The first to fall_, she thought in the back of her mind, shielded from the Jedi observers. _There will be others. —There _have_ been others_, she hastily corrected herself, remembering Master Dooku. She'd studied what had happened to poor Depa. The necessary killing had driven the Vaapad-taught Jedi Master insane. Such was the nature of war.  
"…What makes you say that?" spoke up Jedi Master Adi Gallia when the others refused to speak.  
"Anakin is falling." She said it as sternly and directly as she could. "His will to remain a Jedi is faltering. He wants more." Padmé met Master Windu's shatterpoint-seeing gaze. "He needs to know he's accomplished something since coming here."  
"Skywalker has come a long way since Qui-Gon brought him to us," admitted Master Windu.  
"_Tell_ him that." _Factually_, she reminded herself. _Keep yourself the concerned babysitter._ "Tell him he's improved. Tell him how. _Then_ bring up the problem areas. He's a fast learner. If he has a sense of accomplishment—"  
"He'll become even more cocky than he already is." Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke like she was an idiot. "There is no reason to change our behavior to him."  
"But he's turning to the Dark Side!" snapped Padmé, aghast. Were these Masters really so thick-skulled as to dismiss her concern about her bodyguard?  
A muffled chuckle caught her attention. She refused to look at where it had come, focusing all her attention on Master Windu.  
"Master Windu. Anakin's anger grows, and hate joins it. Suffering will follow."  
Jedi Master Mace Windu's cheek twitched. "You are a politician. What can you know of Jedi affairs?"  
Padmé contained her own anger, smoothly converting the fire to ice. "I know more than you might think."  
Her quiet statement got their attention, as she'd known it would.  
She turned to Master Yaddle, taking a fiery pendant from inside her dress and presenting it to the diminutive Jedi, the same species as Yoda. "This was my grandmother's necklace. Don't tell me you don't know it."  
Yaddle left her chair and took it from Padmé's hand. The green ears lifted in unbelief. Widened eyes looked at the Naboo Senator. "You… Fortunate you are." The four-century old Master dropped the pendant back in Padmé's palm. "Know your grandmother's necklace…"  
Master Yaddle resumed her seat and poise. "I do not."  
Padmé recoiled. "Master Yaddle—"  
"I do not," repeated the Jedi, shaking her head. "I do not."  
"Would you like to repeat your concern about Skywalker, Senator?" drily asked Ki-Adi-Mundi.  
The other Masters actually started laughing  
She looked around the Council. Every single one of them thought her a fool. She ended with her gaze on Yaddle.  
_Liar._  
Yaddle knew the necklace. She just didn't want to admit it.  
She'd _given_ it.  
  
"…We are a _republic_, Senators. We may be at war, but that does _not_ mean our government must change so we can handle it!  
"Chancellor Palpatine has led us well, I readily admit. But in reacting to this war, we have given him no less power than a dictator. Is _that_ a republic, Senators? Rule by one man's decree?  
"I therefore conclude that though Palpatine has offered us excellent guidance in trying times, the illegality of his power calls for another strong leader to step up—"  
"And who will this 'strong leader' be?" Malastair's Senator interrupted. "_You_?"  
"If nominated for the position I would not refuse," replied Padmé Amidala firmly. "But I do not aim for it."  
She faltered slightly, then drew herself up as she finished her speech. "I call for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Palpatine's leadership."

• • •

Her red senatorial robes removed, she had changed into a gossamer white gown, letting her dark tresses fall freely down her back.  
She stood in the shadows, near the door. Anakin stood at the window, his back to her. Muscles taut, he faced the fading sunlight.  
"Your friend is still in office."  
"Good." Her husband's voice was cold.  
Padmé looked down sadly, one hand's fingers gently running over her stomach. "We can't keep it secret, anymore," she said softly.  
Anakin didn't move. "Why not?"  
She stepped forward delicately, seeking his face. "I'm—" The look in his eyes made her stop.  
"What?" he asked, moving towards her.  
Her silence angered him. "I asked you a question!" he snarled.  
She shook her head, her sorrowful eyes staying on his as she retreated. "Nothing."  
He caught her arm, blue eyes burning gray with fury. "What?" he demanded.  
Padmé swallowed. "_Nothing_. I made a mistake."  
Anakin's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "A mistake? Mistook me for someone else, maybe?"  
She stared at him, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?"  
He glared down at her, millimeters away. "You _whore_."  
Without letting her protest, he struck her.  
Padmé fell hard on her wrists, gasping with surprise. Wiping blood off her cheek, she nimbly got to her feet and darted away—  
He Force-pulled her back, grabbing her ankle and twisting it with a snap. She cried out, doing her best to swallow it.  
Anakin's voice trembled with anger. "You're _mine_. No one else's. _Mine_."  
She closed her eyes, not letting the tears fall. "How can you think otherwise of me, Anakin?" she whispered.  
Padmé never saw his fist.

**More to come. R&R :)**

  
  



	3. Plummeting…

**Note that an indeterminate amount of time is between each little section & each big section.**

PART 2: PLUMMETING…

"_Sola_!"  
"I'm coming!" was her sister's snappish reply. "What are you…"  
After a shocked moment's pause, Sola quickly drew her in, glancing at the roaring storm outside before locking the door. She guided the drenched Padmé to a couch, letting her sit. Sola set about drying her shivering sister.  
Padmé resisted, straining for air. "No… I…" Hacking ensued.  
"You know better! What were you thinking running here on a night like this? And in your condition—"  
She abruptly regained enough control of her breathing to gasp, "_Anakin_!"  
"Yes? Anakin what?"  
"He…" She could hardly bear to say it. "He tried to kill Obi-Wan!" She couldn't hide her pain and terror from her elder sister. "Why did you tell me I loved him?" she moaned.  
Comforting her younger sister, Sola's reply was subdued. "I'm sorry. I was wrong."  
"Mom?" Pooja tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Ryoo isn't at Grandma's."  
"What do you mean she isn't—"  
Padmé held her sister's other arm. "That's… what else I have to tell you.  
"Palpatine has her."  
  
"Ryoo Naberrie."  
She quickly stood, bowing. "Chancellor."  
The man eyed her shrewdly. She eagerly awaited questioning.  
"You saw the battle?"  
"Yes, Chancellor."  
"What part did your aunt play?"  
Ryoo snorted. "Hindrance. When Skywalker turned against Obi-Wan, General Unduli had to physically restrain her from running after him… I think she did, anyway. There was some time when no one knew when she was. They found her by a lava vent."  
"Is she all right?"  
"When she can breathe. She's vanished, again, though."  
Palpatine strode to the window. Ryoo had been astonished to be brought to the Chancellor's office. An idea seemed to strike him. "Do you believe…" He turned towards her. "Do you think your aunt's relationship with your mother is such that she will go to your mother for assistance?"  
"Definitely."  
The Chancellor's gaze was sharp. "A strong term for such a young girl."  
She let him know just how she felt about that statement with a few curses.  
She'd judged him rightly. Chancellor Palpatine was impressed rather than revolted by her boldness.  
Which meant she could say something else. "Aunt Padmé knows you're a Sith." Surprise. She liked seeing that emotion, especially on adults. "She's _known_. That's why I wasn't allowed to talk to you at the banquet."  
"…She told you as much?"  
Ryoo shook her head. "I eavesdropped."  
"And knowing what I am… doesn't frighten you?"  
"Why should it?" she asked directly. "Like I care. I like you more than a Jedi, any day." She smiled mischievously. "I know _how_ close Aunt Padmé and Skywalker are, now."  
A brow raised. "Oh?"  
She grinned.  
  
_"Where is she_?!" he roared, igniting his lightsaber.  
Ruwee Naberrie didn't flinch. "I can't tell you that."  
Anakin grabbed his unwitting father-in-law by the throat, lifting him into the air. "Where… is… she?" he growled, shaking him. _Will nothing reach these thick-skulled idiots??!!_ Even as he treated her husband like a rag doll, Jobal Naberrie only looked upset. Not scared.  
"Enough of this!" he squeezed his fist, breaking the man's neck, throwing him away and going for his mother-in-law.  
The ensuing few-second struggle showed where Padmé had gotten her agility. Her mother nearly escaped him, somehow knowing how to roll out of his Force-hold. He seized her, his lightsaber at her throat. He forced her to look at her now-invalid husband. "See him?" he gritted, reached out into the Force, and _squeezed_.  
Within seconds, Ruwee Naberrie had suffocated. Jobal fell limp in his grip.  
"Where is she?" He struck Jobal, breaking her nose.  
The matron pressed her hand to her nose. The bleeding stopped.  
"Don't you fear me?!" he yelled in her face.  
A sympathic gaze was all he recieved in return. He hated it. He killed her, too.  
Part of Anakin couldn't believe he was doing this. Had he really just murdered his wife's parents?  
There was one way to find out. He went to find her sister.

• • •

"Where is Padmé?" he hollered, not caring if the entire street heard.  
Like her parents, Sola didn't look the least bit frightened. In fact… She looked as if she'd _expected_ this. "I hope the Chancellor is finding Ryoo to his liking."  
"_What_?" He grabbed Sola like he had her father. Her husband moved to try to interfere, and Anakin strangled him, too. Sola winced at his death.  
Sweat beaded her forehead. Also unlike her parents, she was angry. "Blast you!" she snapped. "Haven't you killed enough, today?"  
Without breaking her neck, he flung her across the room. Sola, he sensed, was the only one who had any idea as to his wife's whereabouts. "Tell me where she is," he said sternly.  
Sola shrugged, settling on the couch. Though nowhere near as calm as her mother had been, Sola still lacked the one emotion Anakin sought: fear.  
" 'Fear attracts the fearful. Be less afraid.'—or have you forgotten your own advice?"  
How in the galaxy did this woman always know what he was thinking? First about her sister, and now—  
"You might as well kill me. I'm not handing my sister over to murderers to do as they like with her."  
Rage kindled in Anakin—and he'd thought he'd been angry, before. "What are you suggesting?"  
Sola noticed his blue eyes turn gray—knew what it meant, he sensed. But still, she didn't fear him. "You know what I'm suggesting."  
"Educate me," he growled. "Because if you're hinting what I think you are—"  
"You forced her."  
Before Sola had finished those quiet words, she was gasping for air, a gaping hole in her chest from his lightsaber. Anakin heard the toddler start wailing.  
He stormed around the couch to where Pooja crouched, trying to hush little Benji. Anakin grabbed the infant—  
"Go ahead," wheezed Sola, eyes blazing. "Kill your _son."_  
Anakin froze, dumbfounded.  
"What? You never guessed?" Somehow, she had the strength for sarcasm. "Don't tell me you never noticed his blue eyes… Or how he happened to stop crying immediately whenever you or Padmé held him…" Sola's strength died in seconds, and she with it.  
Pooja squeaked, and both children fell silent… A fearful silence.  
Anakin suddenly remembered his mission here, and his anger rekindled. He'd come here for the express purpose of finding his wife, and now any who could tell of her whereabouts were dead.  
He reignited his lightsaber, headed for Pooja—  
"_Anakin_!"  
The familiar voice distracted him. He whirled. "Barriss—"  
His mind blanked.  
  
_"Anakin, _no_!" she wanted to scream, but no sound came out. She had to say something, had to remind him of who he was, before—  
_ _ Defending himself, Obi-Wan knocked his Padawan off-balance. Anakin lost his footing and slipped into the lava.  
_ Anakin!!_ her mind wailed.  
_ _ Obi-Wan sighed, and left.  
_ _ She crept forward, careful on the unstable platforms. She knelt by where Anakin had fallen, completing the net she'd begun weaving the instant he'd fallen in.  
_ _ She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and _pulled_.  
_ _ The net worked. Anakin came up little by little from the lava. She gasped, heaving when she put him on the platform. She could hardly breathe…  
_ Don't let the his pain incapacitate you_, her mind warned her.  
_ _ Ignoring her own condition, she quickly—illegally—stabilized her husband. As she finished, a chill swept over her body. _Sith_.  
_ _ She tried to lift Anakin, but he was too heavy, and her midi-chlorians were too lazy to levitate him. Furious at her weakness, she was forced to leave him for those Sith to find…  
_ _ She fled through the tunnels, thankful she'd studied the schematic. Artoo was one clever droid—she'd have to ask Bail not to wipe his memory…  
_ _ The tunnel jarred, stones falling, blocking her exit. She turned back the way she'd come.  
_ _ Black fell._  
She awoke abruptly, panting, struggling to breathe.  
Padmé turned to her bedstand, getting the inhaler and taking a long puff. The poison vent had damaged her lungs… and mind.  
She got up, looking blearily out the window. In the bright courtyard outside, a young couple chatted. Laughed.  
Padmé put her hands to her abdomen, now empty from the lives she remembered it had borne. Had she ever known what it was to laugh? Smile? Feel anything besides this murderous fear and self-incriminating agony?  
She couldn't remember.  
  
Padmé sat on a log, surrounded by generals. A massive army was around them.  
"…We must take out the command post. Without their leader—"  
General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, cut him off. "He will come back! There is still good in him."  
"No," she murmured wearily. "We've waited too long. We… I'll try one more time. If he doesn't… you can have your way with him." The words struggled to escape her lips.  
Their pitying looks weren't lost on her. Padmé drew herself up, hiding her fatigue. "I'll go now, in fact."  
Kenobi tried to stop her. "M'lady—"  
"_Now_; else they make the first move. Artoo—" she said over her shoulder. "Come."  
"What about _me_, Mistress Padmé?"  
She tensed as she eyed the golden protocol droid. "Stay here."  
"But where is Master Anakin?"  
A shudder shook Padmé, but she kept her composure as she turned to her droid. "That's what I'm going to find out."  
A heretofore silent female Jedi spoke up. "What that droid needs is a memory wipe."  
"Shut up, Tachi," snapped Padmé. She glared at the fierce Jedi Knight.  
"Or else what?" scoffed the young woman. General Tachi loathed Padmé for seducing Anakin—for such she had confessed to the Council. "You think I'm afraid of a _wench_?"  
"Siri!" Kenobi finally rebuked. "Mind your own business!"  
"She's gotten you, too? Oh, my. You really _are_ a threat."  
Padmé pretended to not care about Tachi's taunts, but they stung more than anyone realized. She silently went between the battle lines, Artoo bearing the white flag.  
She glanced back at Tachi. The general was already starting to scratch. Turning to the enemy lines to await their response, she shook her head. Killing the insects only brought more; and rubbing, not scratching, made the stinging bites feel better.  
They'd told her so.


	4. In Limbo…

**These diary entries are in-between the life happenings, and could be placed elsewhere in the story.**  
  


PART 3: IN LIMBO…

_I'm so confused.  
My restless nights are full of images; often cruel, full of people I don't recognize. Not that I recognize anyone, anymore.  
The dreams… nightmares… are strange. Most have a tall man in full black body armor, with a cape just as dark. I know him, somehow. Once I saw a planet destroyed by a moon—no, a space station—as a horrified young woman watched. The planet was Alderaan. I don't know how I know that.  
I don't know how I know anything, anymore. Something's happened to me. I can't remember…  
My caretakers are Jedi. If I choose, I can feel where they are, listen to what they're saying throughout the building.  
I think it's a building. They won't let me leave this windowless suite.  
A few days ago, I lifted a datapad a few centimeters off the table. An apprentice Healer abruptly entered and grabbed it from me.  
'You're not supposed to do that!' she'd hissed, looking angry and worried. She's right, too. I'm not.  
Why not?  
I do not know, cannot even learn what has happened to me. 'It's all right,' they, especially the one called Ben, soothe. 'You're safe, now.'  
Safe from what? I ask. They look at me as if I'm crazy.  
Maybe I am. I hope so.  
Because I fear the alternative.  
  
Why am I throwing up?  
I don't eat breakfast. I throw up. I feel hungrier than I ever have in my life. I'm constantly fatigued. My abs are sore.  
I'm missing something. I used to know what this was. I want to ask, but something tells me that's dangerous.  
The apprentice Healer knows something. I can see it in her sorrowful gaze, her grim determination, her sympathy towards me. She hides it all from other Jedi. Even as I wonder what she knows, I remember her name.  
Barriss Offee.  
It's starting to come back, now. Meaningless bits and pieces… Images, really. Feelings.  
Why does that thought sound strange to me?  
  
I've learned why I shouldn't move things.  
The Jedi called Ben—somehow, I know that's not his name—has me learning Jedi maxims. I guess I did something wrong.  
If someone abuses the Force bad enough, they often don't live for a second chance. I must've misbehaved.  
Maybe I'm a Sith. Or a maverick. At the sidelines I notice Jedi principles being increasingly enforced, here.  
Could they have brainwashed me?  
In our lessons, Ben keeps referencing an 'Anakin'. I'm supposed to know him, I guess.  
I'm afraid to ask.  
  
A friend of Ben's came by, today.  
Siri, her name was. She didn't like me.  
I know I'm not supposed to use the Force, but I needed to know why she hated me so. Quietly, I listened to her thoughts.  
Why does she call me a whore?  
  
I'm pregnant.  
I'm a blasted fool. Of course I'm pregnant. What else could it be?  
Barriss told me.  
She came in silently, carefully shutting the door. After making sure no one was listening, she pulled something from her cloak. 'Here,' she whispered, showing me a small needle. 'Give me your arm.' When I refused in confusion, she sighed. 'The twins?'  
I know what I am now. It's not a Sith, a rogue Jedi, or even a Padawan Learner. I think I'm too old for that last one, anyway.  
I'm a Jedi's lover.  
  
Anakin.  
The name has meaning to me now. It's blurry, but I understand he was my friend… more than a friend. With memory returning, I pretend it's returned. I lie.  
Ben can't tell the difference. He thinks I'm telling the truth. I know. I hear him think it.  
Barriss knows I'm lying.  
She doesn't tell the others.  
  
I have a protocol droid.  
He's designated See-Threepio. He wasn't always mine.  
Ten-year-old Anakin had made him for his mother, cobbling him together from scrap.  
When she died, his stepbrother gave Threepio back to Anakin. As a twenty-year-old Jedi Padawan, he wasn't allowed to own anything. He gave the droid to me.  
Details are filling in. Some. I don't remember what happened to Anakin's mother, but the thought of it gives me chills. I guess that means it's scary.  
Anakin always wanted Threepio to have gold plating. I got it for him. It's not as though I have much else to do.  
Ben thinks I bought Threepio from a junk dealer.  
  
I have an astromech droid, too. I got him when I was Queen.  
…I think.  
I hope.  
  
My children's father is Darth Vader.  
I remember now, too, what he did to me. My nights are frightening, expecting him to come for me, fearing for the little ones I now feel kicking within me.  
They are Force-sensitive.  
I don't know how I know that. I just do.  
I struggle not to link to them. I can't be their mother. Anakin would know.  
They can't be siblings, either.  
  
My dreams make sense to me, now.  
They're visions.  
The tall man in black armor that I know? It's Anakin.  
I think back to the dream with the space station destroying Alderaan. I know who the woman was, too. It will be Leia.  
I will ask Bail Organa to care for her. It's the only way. Luke will go to Beru; she always wanted a child of her own. I've seen it all, the circumstances that let them refind each other. It will happen. I can feel it.  
I feel guilty, sending them there even when I know the deaths it will lead to. Part of me wants to switch; give Beru her girl and Bail his son. That was the original plan, anyway.  
It would be disastrous.  
Luke's too strong in the Force. Palpatine would find him.  
Leia's not as strong. Force-sensitive enough to be a Jedi, but just weak enough that she won't be noticed if she doesn't use the Force. She's like me, in that respect.  
According to the midi-chlorian test, I'm stronger in the Force than everyone but Anakin. Why can't they sense me?  
I sleep fitfully when I sleep at all; my insomnia is starting to show. Barriss sees that I remember. With everything that's happened to me, she asks how I'm sane.  
Unwittingly, she strikes close to my growing secret.  
I'm not.  
  
Help.  
It's simple enough. A four-letter word, invoking compassion in those who have it.  
Compassion. Ha.  
The Jedi Council called me before them, today. About my twins.  
I looked around, remembering the Jedi Masters who belonged in those empty places. Depa Billaba, lost in despair; slotted for trial, if she ever recovers enough to face it. Adi Gallia, murdered by Darth Taranus. Plo Sha, vanished; dead, I don't doubt, by Darth Vader's hand.  
They questioned me, using my lies to determine who was to blame for Skywalker's fall from the Jedi Code.  
I argued that Code. They're Human. Do Jedi never feel? If they must constantly suppress it, how do they cope with pain? Using Anakin, Taranus, and even poor Depa as examples, I made my point clearly: they cannot.  
I grew angry. I controlled it, smoothly transforming the heat into ice, as I always do. Cool heads are highly needed in politics, despite their often low value. Competence is little thought of in politics, I've found.  
Yoda looked at me, large brown eyes intense. He leaned heavily on his cane, far more so than twelve years ago, when I'd first met him; he turned from his pacing, facing me, scrutinizing me in a way I'd never before experienced. I felt his sturdy presence, testing my mind. I pushed back.  
Surprise jolted his eyes wide, and I knew: I was Force-sensitive.  
The thought stunned me. I had realized I was exceptional—queen of my world at fourteen, how could I not be?—but Force-sensitive?  
I could've been a Jedi. With Anakin.  
I could've supported him in the Code; helped him by example; gone on adventures with him as my colleague, rather than bodyguard; spent my life, here, in the Jedi Temple, breaking vows of celibacy, with my husband just rooms away…  
Could've faced the Council as my judges.  
My feeling of relief was short-lived. It soon became clear that these were my judges. Claiming a Jedi lover was no minor thing for an Order sworn to celibacy. I watched, interrupting and arguing and bringing all my diplomatic skills to fore, as they debated the verdict. It didn't help.  
Guilty.  
Yoda was oddly silent throughout my trial.  
"We cannot allow this to happen, again," Mace Windu spoke. "Senator Amidala, you place us in a dilemma."  
I met his piercing, shatterpoint-seeing gaze unflinchingly. "All I ask," I said, "is that you help me hide these twins."  
Mace looked slowly, deliberately, around the Jedi Council. "We cannot."  
Yoda, my friend Yoda, __hrumph__ed… but said nothing.  
"You may carry the twins to term." Mace's voice was frighteningly determined. I felt Leia shiver in my womb. "Innocent lives will not be held responsible, though they, too, are a danger. You, however, present a knowing threat. Senator Amidala, once the twins are safely delivered, we must ask that this threat be terminated."  
So Jedi Master Mace Windu said to my face.  
I asked the Jedi, a group supposedly governed by compassion, for help.  
They asked me to suicide.  
_

**Part 4 coming upon completion(—& editing, of course.)**  


  



	5. Impact

This is the last part. Enjoy. :)   
  
PART 4: IMPACT

"_Ani_?" she whispered, face pleading. "Where is that little boy I used to know?"  
"He's dead."  
She fell back a step. "Then I die with him, for my love has created a monster."  
"What love?"  
Her eyes widened, tears brimming in them. She put up a hand, as if to ward off what he'd said. "Oh, _Anakin_—"  
"That name no longer has any meaning for me."  
"Promise me you'll forgive yourself when you regret this."  
He didn't answer.  
"Promise me. _Please_."  
"No. Because I'll never regret it."  
Her hand lay on her breast, her soft voice wobbling. "You've killed me."  
She collapsed.

"There you are." The Chancellor came forward, smiling. "Your journey was comfortable, I trust?"  
Ryoo glanced around his office before stepping off the lift. She bowed stiffly. "Yes, Chancellor."  
Palpatine's hand gripped her shoulder, and he guided her to the window. She'd grown, enough that he didn't have to constantly look down at her. "And how did they treat you?"  
"Fairly well."  
"Only fairly?" A scowl clouded his face.  
"They didn't trust me."  
"What? Sabé didn't trust her former Queen's niece?" He spoke musingly. "She must pay for that. Her husband—what was his name?"  
"Marson Solo."  
"Any children?"  
"One. A son. Han. Scrawny little thing," she jeered. "Why not leave him for the rats?"  
Palpatine looked at her. She couldn't read his gaze, but a slow smile spread over his face, and he turned back towards the window. "Excellent."

Pain streaked up her arms.  
"You thought you could get away from us, didn't you?" sneered the Dark Jedi. "From _us_?"  
"I did."  
Pain, again. This time in her eye. Jade didn't mind beating her, especially since she'd just led him and his peers on a wild goose chase through the Imperial Palace. It had taken them almost a week to find her.  
Padmé didn't make a sound as Jade punished her out of his frustration.  
His wife slogged him, keeping his next blow from landing. "Master wishes to see you. Don't try anything, this time!" hissed Mira Jade as she guided Padmé out.  
She didn't care. Different doctors had come up with different diagnoses for her condition. Melancholia, chronic depression, neurathenasia… The Healer she trusted most had privately warned her it was a self-induced aberration.  
In the lift to the Throne Room, Mira finally asked what she'd been pondering. "Why don't you ever scream?"  
It was about time she asked. Palpatine was going to execute her, again, one of these days; probably for the last time. She gave the reply she'd always planned to give.  
"You'll understand when they come for Mara."  
Mira was staring at her when the lift opened at its destination. Without even looking around, Padmé knew his guards were gone. She also knew something else…  
"M'lady!" her handmaiden cried.  
"Dormé." At the sight of her old double, her mental shell faltered. Dormé was bruised, her clothing torn, and due any day. Padmé swiftly reestablished the aberration.  
"What was that, Aunt Padmé?" Her niece smiled wickedly. "I didn't quite hear."  
She didn't respond.  
Palpatine came forward. "Your handmaiden looks rather unfortunate, does she not?"  
"Yes."  
"Were you aware of her lover, Senator?"  
"No."  
The Chancellor-Emperor's yellow eyes narrowed with pleasure. "Guess his identity."  
"I cannot." Short answers were the easiest for her to give.  
"I'll help you. Think of a Jedi, well-established on the Council for his superior fighting skills. An _alien_," he added with distaste.  
"Not Ki-Adi-Mundi?" Padmé asked dispassionately. She thought she was shocked, but wasn't quite sure what she felt, anymore…  
"The same. Who _you_," he growled at the ashamed, cringing handmaiden, "allowed in your bed!" _  
By the Force Ki-Adi-Mundi seduced her!_ Padmé closed her eyes.  
A surge of Force-energy made her open them. "Watch."  
Dormé's screams soon filled the room.

"Ryoo."  
She scrambled to her feet. "Master." She bowed, wondering if he'd notice…  
"You've grown, child." Patting her on the shoulder, he went to talk to 'Uncle' Anakin.  
Ryoo Naberrie glared. Was that all he could say? Hadn't she helped him since she was younger than Skywalker had been at the Battle of Naboo? Didn't she serve him unquestioningly? Vader often asked the Emperor's reasons for something. She never did. She merely obeyed.  
Aunt Padmé had been dead a few years, now. Ryoo still remembered the sound of her ragged breathing, the scent of the woman's seared flesh… She wondered what Skwalker would do if he knew she'd been the one to finally execute her aunt. That had been fun, experimenting with her new lightsaber to see what she could do…  
And _he_ thought Aunt Padmé still lived—_hoped_ she lived, longed to see her again. She hadn't mentioned Skywalker's growing desire to find what had happened to Padmé to her master. He'd known all along it would come. That was why they'd killed her.  
Quietly, Palpatine had also sent some to find her so-called brother, but Skywalker had killed him on Naboo with his 'parents', never knowing of the child he'd fathered. So much the better. Ryoo sometimes wished they'd given Aunt Padmé the luxury of a grave, rather than dumping her remains into space, if only so she could spit on it, dig it up, dishonor her memory in every way thinkable. She'd doctored records so her name would be forgotten; so she'd be blamed for the very things she'd sought to prevent. Aunt Padmé had stifled Ryoo, keeping her from being all she could…  
From being what she was now.  
"Ryoo."  
She followed him into his private suite. He looked around it appraisingly as he sat down to one of his rare meals. "Excellent."  
She didn't respond, standing a bit to the side.  
Suddenly, he looked at her as if for the first time. "You've grown."  
She bowed her head. "Yes, Master."  
"Keep your chin up!" he snapped. "There is no need to hide your face."  
"Such was not my intention, Master." Her hair stood on end. She had always been an empath of sorts, and now was no exception. Her heartbeat raced in excitement.  
The Emperor put his plate aside. "Come here."  
  
"Away with you!" she snapped, lashing with her words and the Force. She hated the fawning servants her Master provided her with; loved torturing them. She'd been worse, of late.  
Ryoo looked in the mirror, sneering at herself. She took a knife and slashed her arm, finding a perverse pleasure in the pain.  
Her baby's wails grew louder. She raised the knife threateningly over the crib. "I hate you!" she hissed. Curses followed.  
"Now, Ryoo." Palpatine's voice was cold. "Any children she bears might be of use to us."  
She whirled on him, not caring how he might punish her. "I _won't_ raise a worthless brat! I _won't_!"  
"And if I order you to?"  
"I still won't! I'll kill her first!" Her knife was centimeters above the child, ready to kill the normal baby girl, completely devoid of any Force-senstivity.  
The Emperor nodded slowly. "Queen Jamillia owed your aunt a favor, Ryoo. _That_ is your option." He left, his unspoken threat hanging in the air.  
Ryoo's face whitened with rage. To use her detested aunt as a reference for help—wouldn't Skywalker love to see her do that!  
She flung her knife away, grabbing the infant and dropping her in a carryall. He wouldn't see her.  
"_Ryoo_," someone sighed.  
Picking up the case, Ryoo looked around. She was alone. She dismissed her aunt's voice as a figment of her imagination.  
At the door, she stopped, grinning. "_Padmé_," she breathed. A hated child named for a hated aunt, and if Skywalker ever met little Padmé…  
She shook the bag.  
Skywalker would know just whose child the girl was.

  
Want the story of Padmé's actual baby sister & just who was the "Jedi grandmother"? Ask & I'll write it.  



End file.
